


I Can't Do This Alone

by LetMeEntertainYou



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Use, Gen, Heart Attack, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 01:23:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19031875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeEntertainYou/pseuds/LetMeEntertainYou
Summary: His fingers flew up and down the neck board, looking up to smile at Freddie every so often. Nobody around him knew. Of if they knew, what they knew was that he was high, which wasn’t true. Not at the moment, at least. He looked fine otherwise. Subdued by his usual standard, but nothing drastic. He noticed the change though and it made him nervous. He always worried, though. That was his thing. Worrying until he his nose was buried in some white stuff that made it all go away.





	I Can't Do This Alone

**Author's Note:**

> My blog is Disabled-Queen-HC on tumblr.  
> Anon asked: Suppose John has a heart condition, he's had it since birth and generally he's been able to cope and live a normal(ish) life, but then one night during a mid 80's concert he suddenly collapses backstage with a suspected heart attack?

John felt fine.

Well, he did when he first got on stage.

Maybe he was a little more tired than usual, but he was acting like himself, prancing around the stage in his tiny shorts, laughing and dancing. It was when they reached the halfway mark of the show did he start to feel…off.

He couldn’t find the exact words for it. Perhaps a little dizzy. Light headed. Woozy. It was subtle, so he kept playing, trading in his mini bar drinks for actual water. He didn’t feel drunk, but some proper hydration couldn’t hurt. A few martini’s could really sneak up on you if you didn’t pay attention.

It certainly didn’t help though. That weird feeling continued to rise, in his chest or stomach. He wasn’t sure. His torso felt strained. John slowed down on his dancing a bit, hoping it was over exertion. God, he could really go for a cigarette right about now.

His fingers flew up and down the neck board, looking up to smile at Freddie every so often. Nobody around him knew. Of if they knew, what they knew was that he was high, which wasn’t true. Not at the moment, at least. He looked fine otherwise. Subdued by his usual standard, but nothing drastic. He noticed the change though and it made him nervous. He always worried, though. That was his thing. Worrying until he his nose was buried in some white stuff that made it all go away. 

The worst case scenario was that he was coming down with a flu. Best case scenario was that he was drunk. Middle case scenario was that he was withdrawing. He could handle any of them.

John looked down at his bass, his vision blurring slightly.  _That’s fine. You just had too much to drink. Keep drinking water and you’ll be okay._  He kept saying this to himself, even when he broke out into a cold sweat. It was like his blood turned to ice, coursing painfully south, away from his brain and into his feet. He shivered, wiping away at the sweat on his forehead that felt glacial. Oh, he definitely had the flu. His drunken escapades and lowest highs never felt remotely like this. He prayed he could make it another 30 minutes before the sneezing and runny nose started.

John was steadfast in his belief that he was coming down with something, even after the first pang of nausea hit him. John was a smart man but when things got too serious, he preferred to ignore them. Which he was doing an excellent job of at the moment. He was really good at ignoring reality altogether. He swayed instead of danced, his fingers beginning to shake, missing a few notes here and there. His chest began to grow tight, a terrifying sensation. He’d never had the flu like this before. But it  _was_ the flu. It had to be. It couldn’t be anything else. Just a horrible, horrible flu. 

“ _John_ ,” Brian hissed as he walked over to the bassist, still playing, pretending they were going to jam out together. The music sounded drowned out to John.

“You look pale as a ghost. Are you okay?” Brian said loud enough for John to hear. Brian feared John was preforming while under the influence. Not that it wasn’t a regular thing anymore. John nodded but he didn’t feel okay. It was getting harder and harder to breathe, a tingling in the back of his neck. He’d never fainted before, but he had a feeling this is what it felt like before you dropped.

“I’m fine. Think I’ve got the flu,” he said, his whole body trembling. And then Brian and John didn’t say anything else because everything went black. 

John was lucky he wasn’t conscious for all the gasps in the venue when he landed face first on the floor. Or for when Freddie dropped his mic and ran over to him, Brian kneeling down, yelling amidst the chaos, Roger running backstage for a phone. 

He was really lucky he wasn’t awake when the paramedics got there and started CPR, his ribs breaking in the process. Or when they had to intubate him and ship him off to surgery. 

Most of all, John was lucky that he lived.

When he was wheeled out of the OR, the doctor was shocked he hadn’t had a heart attack weeks ago. Surprised he could even stand for as long as he did. He survived though. He’d recover and there’d be little damage to his heart. John was okay. 

John didn’t feel okay when he woke up. He was confused, his chest sore and his body aching. He tried to get up but somebody pushed him back down.

“Hey there, trooper. Relax. You’re at hospital. Everything’s okay,” a voice said, which he recognized as Roger’s.

John looked around, the room beginning to make sense. All the white and the soft beeping, the IV in his wrist. 

“W-What happened?” he croaked, throat still raw from the intubation. He could see Roger standing besides him, Brian in the far off corner and Freddie sitting down on a chair, eye’s red and glassy.

“You had a heart attack, mate. Right in the middle of Save Me. Scared us pissless,” he replied, a hand going delicately onto John’s shoulder.

John’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth going agape.  ** _Heart attack_**? He’s only in his 30′s! Heart attacks are an old man thing! How the hell did he give himself one?

The confusion in his face was evident, Roger trying to fill in the gaps the best he could. “Uh, well, the doctor will be in soon, I suppose. But he told us a few things could cause heart attacks in youngin’s like you. Stress, tobacco, alcohol and, um…” Roger closed one nostril with his finger, inhaling deeply, the international sign for coke. 

John would blush if he wasn’t so pale. 

All of those..problems he was having would be something for him and the doctor to discuss. He loved his band but he loathed making himself vulnerable in front of them. He wasn’t one to even acknowledge his issues in the first place. He sure as hell wasn’t gonna use them as sit down therapists.

He had other pressing matters to get to either way. A hand flew to his chest, anticipating the sensation of bandages and stitches. “Did they…?”  _Cut me open_ , he wanted to say.

Freddie chimed in. “No. They put a tubey thingy in your thigh, all the way up to your heart and fixed..the thing,” Freddie should have let Roger continue answering the questions. He was still too frazzled after all of this. And Brian was brain dead, apparently. 

“Yeah..what he said,” Roger echoed, not knowing how to explain it any better than that. 

“Look, things are gonna be messy for a while. Just remember we’re here for you, Deacy. You’re not going through this alone,” Roger said with a smile. It was hard seeing their youngest like this. And to be truthful, they all felt guilty for not intervening sooner. But this is where they were now and all they wanted was for John to get better. Physically and mentally.

John nodded, shame welling up in him. His heart monitor jumped in speed, making everyone in the room shiver. “Sorry,” he said in a crackled voice, a familiar darkness settling into his stomach.

“Aw, John. C’mon. You two come here, this boy needs a hug,” Roger said, waving Freddie and Brian over to the bed. They surrounded the bed, all eyes on John, a mixture of emotions on all their faces. 

They all took turns, giving him a hug, mussing up his hair, whispering encouraging words to him. It felt nice but John still felt responsible for this mess. That was until it was Freddie’s turn.

He pulled John into a tight embrace, holding him there for a moment. He pulled away, hands still gripping onto him. His eyes expressed so much. They were so tender and warm as he spoke. “I love you, John.  _We_ love you,” he said, in a way that made John feel 19 again. 19, young, innocent, untouched and safe. 

John couldn’t stop his eyes from watering or stop himself from burying his face into Freddie’s chest, letting out small broken sobs. They all began to rub his back, cooing at him. Reminding him that they were there for him. That things were going to get better. He’d get better. Things were going to go back to normal.

“I’m scared,” John stuttered in between the tears. Three pairs of arms held onto him tighter.

“We’ve got you, Deacy. We’re not gonna let go.  _Never_.”

_Save me, save me, save me,_

_I can’t face this alone._

_Save me, save me, save me,_

_I’m naked and I’m far from home._


End file.
